The Next Chapter in the Tome
by Aku No Kokoro
Summary: Life goes on in the unknown. Little snippets of various areas.
1. Woodholm

Woodholm

She wakes early as she always does, at dusk. She rises slowly, skillfully ignoring the whispers of sleep that try to take her back. Instead, her feet touch the wooden floor, which creaks once she shifts her weight onto them. Her toes are cold, but she gets up dutifully, dresses herself for the cold, and goes downstairs. Her father sits in an old rocking chair, shifting like an old pendulum. He is only lightly sleeping, and she wakes him with a kiss to his rough, wrinkled forehead. He stirs, but cracks a tired eye nonetheless.

"Good morning, child." He happily bellows, and stands to crush her in a hug. Ever since he regained his daughter, he hardly wants to let her go again. She returns the contact with equal vigor, as when she is with her father, she feels safe from that darkness.

The two leave the house to face a mere crack of sunrise, and begin to work. The Woodsman places the face of his axe on the grindstone, and holds it in place as he turns the wheel. The sparks provide some small light, while The Daughter turns the lever of a well. Once the axe sharp enough to cut stone, The Woodsman sets off into the woods. But not too far, never again will he go too far.

The Daughter has fetched two heavy pails of water, and heaves them to a side of house. She wipes the sweat of her brow and sets one bucket aside for bathing. The other she moves in between her feet, and crouches over it. She stares at her reflection in the water for a moment, and the reflection stares back, before she takes a shirt off the clothesline and scrubs it with soap.

He returns in the afternoon with a bundle of logs on his back, and dirt on his knees from planting new seeds. He has enough logs for the fireplace and for cooking, and enough to sell for pheasants tomorrow. There is one in his hand now, hanging by its neck. She saved him enough water to bathe, and he does so while she sets the avian on the counter to prepare it. She is done by the time he is, and they eat.

The two of them across from each other on an old but sturdy table. The scent of cooked bird drifts into the air. A single candle sits on the dead center of the tabletop. The cackle of fire sounds from the distance. This is a family.

This is what he missed when she was gone. Without her, the house was empty and cold, and no matter how many logs he through into the flame. The wind blew the door open sometimes, and he would run to the door to see if she had somehow come home. Mice would run into pots and pans, and he would rush to the kitchen only to frown at how empty it was. When he went to his bedroom, he did not sleep, but instead stare out the window, hoping for a figure to make its way home, but all he saw was trees and dark nothing. Then one night, he stared out at this black nothings, and the nothing stared back- brandishing a lantern.

But that was then, and this was now. Now he has his daughter back. Now, they are eating together after a hard day of work and survival. Now, they are being a family.

And over dinner, he reaches across and puts his rough arm over her delicate fingers (She has strong knuckles though), and keeps the contact, makes sure that she is still here, and he is not dreaming.

And he tells her the story of two boys and their frog.


	2. The Old Grist Mill

The Old Grist Mill

Very late at night was the only time the Grist household was every truly quiet. At any other time of day, the usual ambience included giggling children, working adults, and the sarcastic remarks of adolescents. Especially Beatrice.

Main chores were mostly separated by age groups. The father did farm work, and the mother did the cooking, and both would occasionally get help from the older ones. The kids tended to run around, which wasn't as much a job as it was a troublesome habit. Other "chores" included dragging mud into the home, riding the dog into the woods, and breaking mother's fine vases and knick knacks. The adolescents helped each other cook and clean, clean up after the kids, read bedtime stories, helped out on the farm, etc, all in rotation.

At fixed points during the day, the bunch would stop being chaotic around the house, and instead be chaotic in the kitchen. Meals varied from day to day, except with one constant variable. Bluebird's Potatoes, grown at the family pasture that all will eventually inherit or move on from. Beatrice neither wanted to inherit the farm, or marry, and was known for arguing with her parents in fights as heated as her hair. She wanted to remain a kindred spirit, and one time the argument got her cross enough to toss a rock at a bluebird. She could fly then, but it wasn't all she hoped for, and the rest is history.

Beatrice had missed this, the bothersome chores, the bothersome siblings, the slight smarter-than-thou attitude of her older siblings, and even the arguing (old habits die hard). But she was likely not going to curse her family again, and her parents had learned too, to let their daughter remain the way she is. She still had to help like everyone else though.

Sometimes Beatrice felt like her family hated her for the curse, and if each family was truly honest with themselves, they'd find that somewhere deep down they did resent her for it.

But that was only deep down. The past was the past, family is family, and love is forever.

Besides, she seemed to have changed her policy of never marrying someone anyway, though she never told her family. It isn't like the boy she had in mind was here anymore anyway. No, he was back where he belonged, with his dear brother, happy with some girl. Probably telling her some lame poetry too, though that Sarah-girl probably appreciated it. Beatrice forlornly wishes she could have him dedicate some to her, but oh well, she was happy for him, for both of th-  
>For all of them.<p>

"Beatrice! Come eat your dirt, honey!" Comes the voice of her mother, faking stern.

"Yes ma" She calls back from her favorite window faking annoyance, but every single person in the family could see through her front.

What was actually annoying was that as soon as she sat down, a knock sounded on the door, and she was the one who had to get it.

"Now who could it be at this time?" She muttered to herself, noting the pitch black outside her window.

Annoyed she was no longer, as when she opened the door, she was greeted be three figures. All of which shorter than her (Unless you counted the gnome boy's hat, which she did not). The tallest figure wore a blue cloak, the little one in green overalls, and the shortest was a mere frog in socks.

She was speechless, so the tallest one spoke instead (Which was surprisingly forward of him).

"Hey, sorry we dropped by unannounced. Could we join you for dinner?"

And when she finally took her hands off her gasped mouth, she crushed the lot of them in an embrace.


	3. A Ways a Bit Off from Potsfield

A Ways Bit Off from Potsfield

Once the last of the citizens had fallen to the floor, Enoch set to work. First, their vegetation attire had to be removed and put into compost, having those things rot would hardly do. Then he had bury each person in their own homes, and after that, he could set on his way home.

Said home lied in the forest not too far away. The road leading to and from was lined with pebbles that made his wagon shake as the turkeys carried it. He didn't like the rocks, his body was too small for all this bumpiness.

It wasn't long before he arrived. A small stone hut with a wooden roof covered by a thin layer of straw. A chimney poked out like a spring worm, but did not spew smoke as it had not done in a long while. Enoch ushered the steeds into their pen to the side, and once the gate was latched, he dragged a bag of feed for them to eat. He tore open a hole with a claw, the feeling of linen scraping against his nail was never pleasant but he would always manage. He tossed the feed in, and the turkeys gobbled it greedily.

The hut's misshapen plank door opened on squealing hinges. Enoch ran in with feline finesse and hopped on the old rocking chair with grace. His weight set the pendulum into motion, and the smooth movement put the cat to sleep. The fireplace was dusty with ash and needed new logs, dust settled on every single inch of his home, there were more spells to research, more books to read, but that would be for later. Enoch was tired.

He awoke hours later to the pitch black of night. He could see fine in the dark, but the meager to the autumn's evening winds. Perhaps he should've fetched those logs after all.

So he lugged some dry wood from the pile and set it to burn. The flames danced, his eyes adjusted, and he stretched his back to draw out the moment. Moment over, he needed to get back to his labors.

The dust kicked up in his face as he swept, and he would often sneeze and drop the broom with a plop. The spell books were difficult to understand, but he made a little progress, though he feared for his wonderful cat eyes, as he found he needed the eyeglass more and more these days. He tossed more logs in the fire, he would need to get more in the morning. All in a night's work, and he finished off by leaping back to the rocking chair and laying down in his old master's lap. Her bones pricked against his skin, but he made do, and he wouldn't dare move her.

His master was dear old witch who occasionally got into mischief. Such things included increasing the size of random animals, giving cats deep voices, or making people believe they were in deep trouble only to surprise them with light punishment. She like to have fun, but was sweet besides, and she would stay that way up to the day she died. She passed on with a wrinkled smile on her face and the gentle drooping of eyelids, and her bones remained in her favorite chair forevermore.

One day Enoch would bring her back for real, and not just temporarily. He missed her, with the way her fingers worked magic behind his ears or under his belly. The soft croaks in her voice as she read to him stories and spells, or recounted her own life events. The Familiar loved her dearly as a son could.

But for now, he would continue rummaging through her books, trying out new spells, adjusting something here and there and throughout his long journey, the dead of Potsfield would keep him company. Once the winter withered away, he would return to town, till the fields, plant the pumpkin and corn seeds, and prepare their attire for the next harvest.

The merry way the villagers danced was lovely. Truly they appreciated life more than the living, and they appreciated each other too. Each year was roughly the same. The peasants were simple, which was good in that they simply enjoyed their temporarily renewed life. This was especially true of children, oh the children, who couldn't even remember that their demise of a harsh disease. Better they didn't anyway. It was only those who had seen war who had a hard time enjoying themselves. Enoch would see them sometimes on the outskirts of town rather than celebrating on the interior, but eventually they always warmed up.

It took time, but they would always drop their white tattered surrender-flags into the dirt and joined their loved ones. They might have been buried sad and without a name, lost to history, but they were not lost to Enoch, and they were not lost to each other.


	4. Langtree-Brown

Langtree-Brown

**Ding!**

**Ding!**

**Ding!** And the bell continues to ding as the sun beams warmth and life to the garden. The rays settle on a pearl arch, with vine-like engravings etched into either side – symmetrically, before joining at the top. The grass is a lush green - enough to grasp it with your hands and squeeze into pure vigor juice, and the flowers contrast the grass like dazzling stars in the night sky.

Town's children and animals stand proud and tall, in either white little dresses, or tiny suits, and they seem excited for the event to start. The adults adorn their best wear too, and wait for the music to begin.

Meanwhile, Mr. Langtree comforts his daughter who paces from one side of the room to the other. Butterflies ravage the tissue of her stomach, and hovering over her eyes are her shaking hands that are ready to catch the tears in case she cries. She tries not to cry, for it would ruin the make-up which took forever to do. She panics, but doesn't want to panic too hard for if she did, her hair would stick out her well-done bun, and as she paces, she smooths out her dress – making sure it stays perfect, though it never had crinkles to begin with.

As his daughter fidgets in routine, Mr. Langtree rubs the back of his thin neck. He is bad at comforting people, so all he can do is repeat the same sweet somethings.

"It will be perfect, dear!" "You'll be fine!"

Though to be fair, his voice is just as nervous.

The groom's room is just as chaotic – Jimmy's eyes shrink in their sockets, and his normally smooth (could be) singing voice has been reduced to a shrivel. His mother is having about as much luck as Mr. Langtree, if the cold sweats on Jimmy's neck was anything to go by. His legs wobble like saplings in the wind, and if this goes on any longer, one or both of them could feint through the entire ceremony.

Outside, the guests start to worry, and the sun is starting to beat down on them rather hard. The ring bearer and flower girl start to feel the benches dig into their soft legs, and fidget ungracefully as they make their boredom and discomfort apparent. The school animals in the band are also on edge, waiting to play their piece for the couple, but growing very tired and sleepy.

Among them, in the very back, were three children and a frog, all of which also sat impatiently. The older looked embarrassed to be surrounded by all these well dress individuals, and his suit-jacket insulated the heat just a bit too much. The younger remained blissfully unaware of how much he stuck out, as well as the situation as an innocent smile remained plastered on his round face. A heavy silence hung in the air, and not wanting to disturb it, Wirt whispered

"Psst, Greg, what do you think is taking so long?"

Though he did not answer, and instead kicked his feet happily while drumming the tin pot in his lap.

"I don't know, maybe they've got pre-wedding shivers." Offered a redhead who like the other guests, was uncomfortable in her own dress. Even semi-elegant wear didn't sit right with her. Jason Funderburker croaked in agreement, seeming more aware of human concepts than he should be. Used to and ignoring the frog's comment, Beatrice muttered on

"Maybe the wedding will be canceled." And with this, her face falls into pensive thought.

Those words kicks Gregory out of his reverie. "Cancelled?" he gasps out, before his lack of volume control sets in and he yells out

"BUT THE WEDDING CAN'T BE CANCELLED!"

Hearing this, the guests all began to murmur in worry. For some reason they took stock in the boy's words, and their eyes began to shift to each other for answers that no one knew.

Wirt gulped at the catastrophe they (Greg, but they were all in it together) had caused. Soon the words "leave" began to stick out in the mass of voices, and it seemed they were deciding whether or not to stand and do so. This goes noticed by the group, and the littlest of the bunch piques up.

"Wirt, do something!" He wishes aloud. "You're a hero here! You're the pilgrim!" He finishes in a shout. 

"I-" Wirt's eyes look away, avoiding responsibility. "Uhh." And though he is easily flattered, the boy does not know what to do or why he has to be the one to do it.

"Let's just-"He closes his eyes briefly to think of an idea- "Go check on the bride and groom?" he eventually offers weakly.

Simple as it is, they agree to it nonetheless, and the team splits up with Beatrice checking in on Mrs. Langtree, Gregory following suit because he wanted to see his not-teacher, Jason Funderburker obviously tagging along with Greg, and Wirt going by himself to go console a nerve-wracked Jimmy Brown, whom Wirt knew even less personally than Mrs. Langtree.

Wirt arrives at the Man of the Hour's chamber, and knocked on the nice wooden door. Probably mahogany.

A woman with tired eyes opens the door, and when she decides she doesn't recognize Wirt, she raises and eyebrow at him. The boy in question brings a thin, yet calloused finger to tug at his collar, and nervously fibs "Hi, I'm a family friend of the Langtrees? I came to see what was going on?" The woman, though still wary, lets him in, and then leaves herself, shutting the door softly behind her.

When the door clicks, Jimmy looks up. His eyes squint, seemingly searching his memory before something clicks into place.

"Ah! You're that boy who helped me out of that gorilla." As always Jimmy Brown spoke from the diaphragm. Wirt believed he could've made more money being a love-singer than a gorilla. He sure seemed to know enough about romance, anyway. The sappy kind at least, but enough for a few songs.

"Yea, that's me." Wirt says, looking away and rubbing the side of his arm.

"Y'know, I don't think I ever got to thank you. You boys skipped town before I did."

"O-oh. Don't mention it." Replies the teen, obviously abashed at his accomplishments. He looks for a change of subject before remembering why he was there in the first place. He clears his throat and shuffles his feet a little, not wholly sure how to go about this before starting 

"Soooooo" He draws out nervously. Shouldn't some adult be handling this right now? "Why aren't you out there? Doing, uh, you know? "

The question seems to shame Jimmy, and his gaze falls downcast before he closes his eyes as if surrendering.

"I don't deserve her." "What?"

"I mean the gal is just so gosh darn, perfect- y'know? An' I'm just so-" He never finished, instead leaving the answer ring in the air as if it were so obvious. It wasn't, as he seemed a perfectly fine man, and Wirt decided he had enough.

"No listen, whatever you're thinking, it doesn't matter, because she wants to marry you." Wirt closes his eyes and slaps his face with both hands – looking for the words.

"Look, there was this girl I liked for a long time, and all this time I thought I didn't have a chance when all I needed to do was ask her out. Now you guys are way beyond that point, so just get out there." He finishes with a punch to Jimmy's arm.

"Boy, why did you just hit me?" Asked the groom sadly.

"Err, where I'm from it's supposed to be inspiring?"

"Hm, yes. Now that you mention it, I do feel inspired." And Jimmy rises with renewed drive, for whatever reason.

"Thanks son." He dusts off his clothes, puts on his jacket, and makes his way to the aisle. Wirt lets out a breath and wipes the sweat from his brow before leaving the room himself. He meets up with Beatrice and Greg, the latter excitedly greeting him.

"Wirt! We saved the wedding!" He proclaims loudly, shooting both fists in the air.

"How did it go on your guy's end?"

Beatrice wears a smug grin. "I don't have to tell you anything." She beams, echoing distant words, though there's more tease to it this time. She checks his face to see if he gets the reference. He does, but doesn't comment aside from looking slightly annoyed, and simply shrugs as Gregory puts both hands to his mouth to stifle laughter. Wirt questions this, but does not react beyond that. If he really wanted to, he could tickle his little brother until he spilled the beans.

They all collectively shut their mouths when the music began, the very sweet song of Potatoes and Molasses which brought them together (Again). Brown, though short and thin fit his suit well, and the genuine look of smitten he removed all his physical shortings, because he felt where it counted. Langtree herself was the fitting image of a Blushing Bride, Each step she took was slow, over analyzed, and her eyes looked from side to side at family, friend, and student to see if she was doing it right. She didn't calm down until her eyes settled her Jimmy's eyes, waiting for her, ready to join her in matrimony. Everything else was easy after that.

As they said their vows and their "I do's", Wirt wondered if those two would be okay. They both seemed a little young and childish, and moving way too fast. Langtree automatically assuming he ran off instead of in danger after being missing for three days, and then getting married almost as soon as he got back? Oh well, while problems arose for them wildfires, the two seemed to put them out together just as fast, so he figured they would be just fine at worst.

The last they saw of the loving couple was when Langtree tossed the bouquet, and after that they left for their honey moon, but not before Langtree threw Beatrice a reassuring wink. Beatrice caught it with sly lips and Cheshire eyes, and though he was curious, Wirt again chose not to grill her. All he wanted to do at this point was get home and strip off this suit.

A/N: I know nothing about weddings. Also I self-indulged myself in my favorite ship here a bit, but I won't go much farther beyond that in this fic. I'll try to avoid doing so again, but it may happen. I'm very surprised by how long this chapter turned out, roughly three times the word count of the first chapter. It's probably because this chapter actually has a conflict, a mild one, but a conflict nonetheless. As for an explanation on why the boys are in The Unknown, I'll get to that in the last chapter, but it won't be any grand explanation, and I don't even think it'll make much sense – A lame dues-ex machina at best.


	5. Tales of the Dark Tavern

A/N: I'd like to apologize for this chapter. It's a pretty bad one, but I just couldn't find the motivation or inspiration on what to do with the tavern, and if I did nothing, and then nothing would've happened. So here's this.

Tales of the Dark Tavern

It always rained here. For some reason this little tavern never saw the light of day, only stormy nights. There was never sun, or birds chirping, only the tapping of rain. The patrons were never of the cheery sort, only down on their luck.

And they were always down on their luck.

Life was a cruel mistress, taking away everything and their names, only leaving a title. A butcher, a highwayman, a carpenter, and so on. All that remained of them was this tavern, where at the very least they could find drinks, home cooked meals, and shelter from the rain. The Tavern Keeper watched over these poor souls, providing as much comfort as she could, but it was difficult when more lost ones keep wandering through her door.

An ensemble who could find no work, and even though they played here every night, it was only for lodgings upstairs. Still some home was better than none. The butcher owned no meat that wasn't rotting. The master once held pounds to his name, but he held it no longer. Now he had no name, no nobility to it, only an apprentice who would learn nothing. The midwife was not needed for deliveries, the tailor could only cry his life away, and the Tavern Keeper watched over them all. That was _her_ role.

Only one man among them seemed merry, laughing away in his corner, painting and carving his figures – figures of them. The keeper found it eerie, as though he was laughing off of their collective misery, but she paid him no heed. All were welcome here, one did not even need to pay.

And then they came.

When they walked through that door, no one lifted their heads from their table, content to wallow. They had no idea of the coming changes.

Two boys, a frog, and a bird. A bright blue bird, the bluest thing any of them had seen for days. That didn't stop the Tavern Keeper from chasing her out with a broom, of course. Blue birds did not appear for a long time, but here one was, out of season, talking (not that she wasn't used to talking animals on her property), and courting in tow two innocent kids. The keeper could smell lies, it came with the job, and the way this bird introduced herself didn't sit right with her. So of course the keeper chased the avian out, of course that feathered devil had to be an ill omen.

But she was not. Instead the bird brought in two precious children. Perhaps she was a guide. Yes, they were lost souls like all others, but unlike the others, their journey had not ended. Instead it had just started, and change started to take hold as soon as they walked through the door. For one thing, he was the first one to talk to that eerie man, and that eerie man broke out into song, dragging the rest of the workless with her. It was the first time she had seen a smile on more than one face.

It wasn't until later that the butcher could make out there roles. The boys were pilgrims on a scared journey. To where or to what end, no one in the room could say, but what's important was that they were the masters of their own destiny.

Very well put, Master.  
>The crowd cheered as the two pilgrims told their tale – Finding a boy an amphibian companion, stopping a raging gorilla, they only hushed when the boy mentioned That Name. And shortly after that they heard a scream from the darkness, and the taller one rushed valiantly on horseback into the cold, wooded abyss. The tavern-goers roared for his success, and they haven't seen him since.<p>

After that, the butcher skipped a night, and the next, and another. No one questioned his disappearance, and on the fourth night, he burst through the door with a wide grin, and asked for water to wash his blood soaked hands. "Had a hard day at work" he said with a rumble. Soon each goer would disappear for a while, then come back, tired but happy. Work, or fortune had found them again. They did it itself it seemed. As soon as they stopped wallowing and decided for themselves that the journey hadn't ended…

And though they were never seen again, none of the patrons forgot those children with such a bright future ahead.


End file.
